Above the bookshelf sits an accordion
a birthday gift, she's older than me but we're alike in dusty ways leathery, blue, spiny ways, weathered with sounds and unspoken ones for six years I've played a melody of a painterly, light filled life: beautiful squares to return to, contain and be contained, and stare into I hold the accordion in my hands pull out a slow, long wheeze and contract into myself: an uncomfortable yet necessary thing I have given birth three times surged, panged, sore and singing a song as old as life itself - three living bodies emerged from my own I prepared myself for the labouring for expanding, expectantly, but it was afterwards, with babe at breast I felt my body do a strange and painful thing: my womb contracted, retreated in completion, shrunk itself and so I think it is with all creative work we puff up and shrink, concertina-like, we make and miss notes, we glimmer with goodness, dust and who knows what else: we grow, birth, contract, rest again and again and again.
1 Comment
Ailin
16/1/2021 08:57:31 am
So good to return to your blog once again Emily after all these years, to read your lovely words and see your beautiful photos.
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ABOUT the authorEmily Clare Sims is a farmer and mama to three young boys. Each day she looks for ways to notice beauty, contemplate her faith and savour the seasons... Categories
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